This is the story of Janie Ryan and her Ma, Iris. Born in Aberdeen in the early 1980s, her Ma having "been tae London and got herself preggers", Janie is initiated early into the ways of the fishwife – fighting, falling out, and moving on. Homes are places to pass through: rare B&Bs that accept DHSS, but lock their doors between 10.30am and 5.30pm, leaving Janie and her Ma to pass the hours in shopping centres, playgrounds with one slide, or concrete high-rises. Fathers are absent, violent or passive ("Leanne, love, fix us a snakebite"). Skin is "the colour of Spam" or "like wet candle wax". Food is grey – frozen burgers, frozen chips, cans with white paper labelled only "stewed meat".

This is the poverty trap writ large, the authentic working-class experience in all the mess and glory of the giro queue, drug and booze dependency, and gallows humour. For all the shifting locations, relationships and casual jobs, nothing changes – nothing is ever overcome. Iris, midnight flitting with her little girl from one damaging situation to the next, steadily loses her will to fight. But then there's Janie, and even in her wanton teenage years – staggering around Great Yarmouth, shagging and boozing – she knows she's better than this; she knows she can get out. Kerry Hudson's early life was like this. What a brilliant thing to turn the chaos and trauma of a hectic childhood into a debut novel as colourful, funny, joyful and compelling as this.